Though the lodging be cold, let it shower people with autumn rain.Matsuo Bashō

This is a haiku composed by Matsuo Bashō, who was born in Iga in the early Edo period.

It is said to have been written for a gathering of haiku poets at Hairikutei in Iga Ueno, expressing the thought that even if it turned cold, a shower of winter rain falling here would make the gathering all the more atmospheric.

You can sense Bashō’s chic sensibility and passion for haiku, his desire to enjoy elegance during an overnight retreat with fellow poets who could refine their craft together, and the very mood of the occasion.

It is a deeply evocative haiku, isn’t it? The gathering of like-minded companions must have been delightful.

Riddle games of the coughing child—endless and weary.Teijo Nakamura

Here is a haiku by Teijo Nakamura, a female haiku poet born in 1900 and a disciple of Kyoshi Takahama.

It depicts a child, coughing and bedridden with a cold, bored and eager to keep playing endless riddles.

The everyday scenes of family life are portrayed so vividly that they come to life before our eyes.

It’s also interesting that coughing and sneezing are used as winter season words.

Although haiku that depicted everyday life were looked down upon in those days, Teijo held firmly to that stance.

On the First Horse Day, the seed seller stands in the sunlightNEW!Yosa Buson

Hatsuuma refers to the Day of the Horse that falls at the beginning of February, and because it marks the enshrinement of the Inari deity, it is known as a day when festivals are held at Inari shrines nationwide.

These festivals are meant to pray for abundant harvests and thriving business.

That’s why the seed sellers on this day may seem to be basking in bright sunshine.

Hatsuuma is also a seasonal word for spring, so it may convey the warm, lively atmosphere that awaits beyond the cold winter.

This is a well-known haiku that uses Hatsuuma, so please feel free to remember it.

Drift ice and the Soya’s gate-waves— the storm won’t cease.NEW!Seishi Yamaguchi

This is a haiku by Seishi Yamaguchi, who spent his childhood in Karafuto, written as he recalls those early years.

The seasonal word in this poem is “drift ice,” ice that floats and drifts on the sea.

At first glance, you might think it’s a winter kigo.

However, drift ice arrives in spring, when the frozen seawater begins to melt little by little—so it actually signifies the arrival of spring in cold regions.

“Sōya” refers to the Sōya Strait, north of Hokkaido.

The poem contrasts the fierce, standing waves of the Sōya Strait with the drifting ice.

Though the signs of spring are approaching, February remains bitterly cold.

The haiku vividly captures the severity of midwinter and the relentless rough seas that show no sign of calming.

In the plum’s fragrance, I’m drawn back—such coldNEW!Matsuo Bashō

Although “ume” (plum blossom) is famous as a spring kigo, in this verse the kigo is “ume ga ka,” which literally means the fragrance of plum blossoms.

Ume heralds spring, but it is an early-spring flower that begins to bloom as the season shifts from cold to warm.

Just because the ume has bloomed doesn’t mean spring has arrived at once.

You can sense how, even while feeling the signs of spring, the lingering winter chill makes one stop short and stand stock-still; through this, the poem conveys the gradual changing of the seasons.

Behind the willow with the nightingale, before the thicketNEW!Matsuo Bashō

It’s a haiku that conjures up the image of a restless nightingale flitting behind the willows and popping out in front of the thicket.

The nightingale, also called the harbinger of spring, is often depicted as a quintessential symbol of the season—like “plum blossoms and nightingale.” So we tend to think of it as a graceful creature, but in reality it moves around quite a lot.

This haiku captures the nightingale just as it is, almost like a live commentary on the bird right before your eyes.

Just imagining it brings a gentle smile—what a lovely piece.

A memorial for needles that, before I knew it, had vanished.NEW!Takashi Matsumoto

Hari-kuyo is a ritual held on February 8 to honor and give thanks for needles that have become damaged, broken, or unusable.

In times when needlework for making kimono was a valuable livelihood, needles were an essential and treasured tool.

To show appreciation, people would rest the needles by sticking them into soft items like tofu or konjac and then offer them at temples and shrines.

This expressed the wish that the needles, which had worked so hard until then, could take their final rest in a soft place.

The verse that calls to mind the many needles and the women diligently engaged in needlework seems to praise the labor and efforts of those women and the needles alike.